Wreathed
by KK's Slave
Summary: Logan from Veronica Mars and Peyton. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: I do not own One tree Hill or Veronica Mars or ... anything, really.

A/N: This is a Logan/Peyton one-shot for the wonderful and absolutely adorable Kay.

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Fear.

She trembled slightly but noticeably, resting her clothed back on the coarse wall, letting the darkness swallow her petite figure, and with it, her soul. The air was bitter and cold, as it often is on a late November night. Yet, she knew quite well that it was not the chilly breeze that were forming the conspicuous goose bumps on her silky, ivory skin.

She listened to the approaching footsteps, feeling disturbingly fragile, like a porcelain doll positioned on the edge of a table during a severe earthquake. She was about to shatter, she knew, yet she could not force herself to depart, to escape the atrocious jaws of … desire.

She watched noiselessly as he appeared out of the shadows, his face, his body, so distinguishably attractive against the black surroundings that he seemed almost celestial. An angel. A fallen one.

He was merely a foot away from her now, his tall stature casting a dark shadow on her crouching body. He smiled, rather cockily, and she knew he had reason to – the frightening effect he had on her was blatantly apparent, and any attempt to deny such a fact would, and should, only be welcomed by laughter.

"Hi."

She was too overwhelmed to respond. One would say she feared him, but that was far from true. They were so similar, so alarmingly compatible, that if she were one who believed in destined lovers, she would believe them to be "meant to be." No, it was not him that she feared, simply the sensation he planted deep within her soul.

"What are you thinking, Peyton?"

She focused her gaze on his neck, which, strangely enough, made her wish to nibble on it. "Nothing."

"You could at least create some sort of ingenious story if you plan on lying."

"Logan." Eyebrows furrowed, she looked up, connecting her gaze with his. His eyes, as dark as chocolate, were enthralling, an action-packed novel, captivating the reader and involving her in riveting, heart-racing adventures … adventures which she wished would never conclude. A sigh, soft and stimulating, escaped her lips. He was so … he was so … "Beautiful."

"What?" He seemed perplexed, and she turned away, blushing. "That was random, Peyt. Even for you."

"I was just thinking." _About you._

"About yourself?" He leaned into her, pressing his luscious lips against her nose. "Because then, I'd say beautiful is an understatement."

Her cheeks reddened, and she turned away to conceal her wide smile. "Actually, I was thinking about …" She paused. "Elmo."

"Now, that is just wicked. Here I am, with my undeniable self …" He flexed his muscles, and Peyton laughed softly. "And you are thinking about a Sesame Street character? That hurts Peyt, it really does."

"What can I say? I just adore fluffy, red creatures."

"Even if he doesn't exactly have a … um, certain body part?"

She smacked him playfully, stifling a gasp as their skin touched, sending an invigorating sensation through her veins. When she recovered, a moment later, she chose to ignore it, a sort of tradition between the two. Whenever something happened – anything that passed the boundaries of simple lighthearted attraction, they conveniently forgot about it. It was easier to believe a pretense than it was to deal with heartbreak.

She cleared her throat, masking her emotions with a smile. "Elmo doesn't need to be able to do that for me to love him."

He took a step, pressing his body against hers, his hot breath caressing her neck. "Really?"

She bit her lip, shutting her eyes and suppressing a moan. "Really."

His lips were cold, icy almost, and she felt herself shivering as he trailed her neck and shoulder with wet, thrilling kisses. Her knees buckled, and if it weren't for his hands grasping her hips tightly, she was sure she would have collapsed. He withdrew for a moment, staring deeply into her shimmering hazel eyes with an almost barbaric passion.

"Peyton …"

He grazed his parted lips over hers, softly, sensuously, awakening her senses yet numbing them at the same time. Snaking her arms around his neck, she pulled him to her, and their lips collided with such a reckless fervor that she could not help but whimper ever so slightly.

"Peyton …"

She rapidly unbuttoned his shirt, wanting … no, needing to feel the touch of his skin.

"Yeah, Logan?"

She drank in the sight before her … god, he was so … beautiful! She could not find another word.

"We need to stop."

It took her a moment to register his words, and when she finally did, she found herself slightly baffled. "What?"

"I…" He stepped backwards, running his hands through his hair. "I came here for a reason."

Peyton didn't respond, for she knew not how to react.

"I…" He touched her satin-like cheek, stroking it gently. "I'm leaving."

"You are leaving." It was more of a statement than an inquiry, because frankly, she was quite used to farewells. They came so very often, when she least expected it, that she had begun to consider it a constant part of her ever changing life.

"I don't want to."

"But you have to."

"Yeah."

She felt numb, emotionless. She was sure that soon, perhaps in an hour or so, the information would sink in, and she would drown herself in tears, but for now, she felt … absolutely nothing.

"Goodbye then."

She walked past him, letting her shoulder brush his. Somehow, she knew, that it would be the very last time she would feel his touch.

"Goodbye? That is all?"

She stopped in her tracks, not bothering to turn around and stare at him.

"There's nothing more to say."

"I might …" He paused. "I might come back one day."

"The uncertainty in your voice says enough." She threw him a fleeting glance. "Look Logan, you don't have to sugarcoat this moment with false promises. I don't need to be protected. Really. People need to leave sometimes, I understand. You don't have to explain."

She began to walk again, and he silently watched her go, not troubling to wipe the solitary tear that was slowly streaming down his cheek.

"I love you, Peyton."

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Hope.

She trembled slightly but noticeably, tightly wrapping herself with the blanket. The room was unbearably cold, and she felt strangely suffocated. Yet, she did not have the energy to venture outside, or perhaps, she was simply masochistic, willing to subject herself to unnecessary anguish.

She quietly dragged herself out of bed, walking to the window and lifting the drapes. The sun was exceptionally bright, a dazzling orb that momentarily blinded her. It was bizarre – how the sun could shine ever so vibrantly and yet all she could sense was an unfathomable pit of darkness.

A laugh, humorless and caustic, escaped her dry lips, and soon, she found herself on the floor, clutching her stomach, as the room got engulfed in acerbic laughter. It was quite similar to weeping, really … a release of emotions she had kept masked for so long.

The laughter had stopped now, and she lay on the floor, breathing deeply, completely exhausted.

_What was that? I should apply for mental therapy. _

Maybe she was drunk. How she wished she really was. Then, perhaps, she would be able to prevent thoughts of _him_ from entering her mind. He was probably miles away by now, and she felt slightly ashamed of the hostility she had shown the previous night. Though it wasn't exactly hostility, she reasoned, simply her defenses.

"Peyton?"

She looked up, alarmed at the familiarity of the voice that had spoken her name. Logan. Was she hallucinating? It would not be the first time. The supposed illusion walked towards her, kneeling down before her and tucking an astray curl behind her ear.

Okay, perhaps it wasn't imaginary.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was louder and a bit more callous than she had thought it would've been.

"I wanted to see you before I left." He withdrew his hand, forcing a fake smile on his face.

"You don't have to do this whole 'I'll miss you, I'll never forget you' crap."

"Yeah, I do." He smiled again, looking away from her, for he knew that if he stared at her any longer, he would lose all of his self control. "Peyton, there's something I need to tell you."

"I know you are leaving already."

"It's not that."

"You are gay?"

"Peyton." The blank look on her face was enough to make his heart shatter. "I love you."

She had maintained her composure until then, but his confession completely annihilated her defenses. This was not exactly the precise moment for this conversation. "What do you want me to say?"

"That you love me too?"

She could not respond, nor did she know how to.

"Look Peyt, you don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know before I leave, that's all." He waited for a moment before standing up. "Bye."

She was too consumed by her own thoughts to notice him exiting the room. Did she love him? A million thoughts, a million memories flooded into her mind at once … did she love him?

_Yes._

The word alarmed her, and she shook her head. She couldn't love him. He was gone, never to return ... she just couldn't.

But she did.

"Shit."

She scrambled to her feet, hardly knowing what she was doing, and ran, as fast as her legs could carry her, down the stairs, out the door, into the street …

He had not waited.

"I love you too, Logan. I love you too …" She sank to the ground, clutching her knees. "I love you so much."

"Glad to hear that."

She turned around instantly, her eyes opened wide, her jaw hanging ajar. Logan.

He smiled sweetly and genuinely, the warmth reaching his watery eyes, as he hurriedly walked towards her, swooping in and embracing her tightly. She laughed, enveloping her arms around him, burying her head in his chest. They stayed in the same position for a while, simply holding each other, unable to let go.

"Peyton, I -"

"I know." She untangled herself from him, planting a soft, lasting kiss on his cheek.

"We'll see each other again," he whispered softly. "I promise."

He was wrong.

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Hopes and fears.

She trembled slightly but noticeably, collapsing to her knees, numb to the fresh winter snow that lay beneath her. The world was silent, cold and harsh, almost a reflection of her own self.

She hadn't cried. Not a single tear had escaped from her eyes since she had heard the news; in fact, her face had worn the same, blank expression ever since that day. She ran her finger over the rough, icy surface of the stone, almost caressing it, as if it were … _him_. The soft, tender manner was departing now, and suddenly, rage, pure and unadulterated, flowed through her veins, and she exploded within, smashing her fists against the stone with enormous effort.

Red. So vivid against the incredibly dull atmosphere. She watched as it trickled down the gray stone, landing on the ground and mingling with the snow. A morphing of the dreary and the vibrant. Of the cold and the warmth. Of the dead and the living.

He hadn't lied. Perhaps she would never see him again, but … he was there. Surrounding her. Within her.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and exhaling through her mouth. She felt herself floating, her body leaving the ground, her weight disappearing, her spirit entwining with that of the wind ...

"I love you, Logan."

And she could hear his whisper against her right ear.

"I love you too."


End file.
